Down For You *T E A S E R!*
Chapter 11: (The Cheerleader) is posting this weekend. I’ve made the decision to leave some of the original teaser off to play it safe for Tumblr. This chapter will be EXPLICITLY ADULT CONTENT ONLY compared to things Ive posted before.....except maybe “Make it Quick.” So, if for any reason you read my stuff because you like to keep it light....you’ve been respectfully warned. lol.
The city of Atlanta is practically shimmering in the light of late morning. Sitting on the floor by the window I look out over the skyline, feeling the tug of homesickness already because by this time tomorrow Bo and I will be in the air, halfway to the city of Angels. I turn my gaze back to the purple Tulips Bo gave me yesterday, where they sit on the floor in front of me in a half glass of water and I trace my fingers softly over the waxy surface of the petals. In a way, it feels like I’ve acquired a pet goldfish or something—because I’m suddenly worried about what I’m going to do with them before we leave for L.A. Obviously I can’t expect a glass of Tulips to survive the journey through the ATL airport, through customs, a nearly five-hour flight and certainly not the airport traffic at LAX.
“I didn’t think it was necessary to tell you, Eric.” The stress in Bo’s voice catches my attention and pulls my focus from the pending floral orphans. He paces the hotel room, chewing his nails like it’s his last meal. He’s been on the phone with Eric for nearly an hour now, after deciding to come clean about the arrangement between him and Camille. Why? Because the video that was released yesterday has sparked an all-out- WAR.
Camille’s die-hard fan base is coming after Bo and they’re carrying metaphorical pitchforks. Because of the nature of the footage, including her crying, and him practically yelling at her, the speculations have spun out of control across the media and the general public. They’re now accusing him of being abusive, toxic and the number one trending hashtag on Twitter today is #cancelburnham.
However—now more than ever—one thing is very clear. Camille might have a larger fan base. But Bo’s fans….are viciously loyal. They’ve launched a counter-attack against Camille and her followers based on how obvious it was that Bo didn’t want to be kissed. And this brings us to the next highest trending hashtag on Twitter today, #cancelmouthrape. Yeah— It’s a bit theatrical but it has a nice ring to it.
Only a few minutes later the call finally comes to an end and Bo chucks his cell, rather violently, onto the bed. It bounces like a stone skimming across a lake and crashes into the headboard. Bo sighs, resting his hands, fingers laced, on the top of his head. I’m trying to think of something comforting to say but I’m distracted by the sexy little section of tummy that shows anytime he lifts his arms.
“Are you just hanging out with those flowers right now?” Bo grins, eyeing the Tulips.
“They’re getting some sun,” I explain. He huffs a quiet laugh, dropping his arms back to his side. But when his smile fades he looks purely defeated. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Of course,” he says, with a shrug. “This shit sucks but it’s not ruining my day.” He saunters over and lowers to the floor by my side. And while he gazes out over the city, I can’t help but to gaze at him. His hair and all of its sweeping, tapered glory is laying unusually perfect today and the sun hitting his bright, salmon color tee-shirt, casts a glow over his face causing the contrasting blue of his eyes to appear unnaturally vivid.
I’ve admired a lot of gorgeous guys in my life and in a slightly shallow way I’ve always had a sense of pride in the fact that I get plenty of attention from, and have dated, nothing but exceptionally pretty men. But there’s something about Bo that strikes differently. I don’t just admire his looks—I’m transfixed by them. Sometimes it's so overwhelming it causes an ache in my chest or even frustrates me in some weird way. Like when he slightly tilts his head back and flashes that airy smile. Or how sometimes when he’s in deep thought, he tosses his head to the side, lowers his gaze, and shadows play in the pools under his set deep-set eyes. I could go on and on but the point is—he’s beautiful to me in a way I don’t think I could ever burn through or grow tired of.
Eventually, I manage to join him in the fixed gaze over the city and I lay my head on his shoulder. And for a while, we sit quietly, just appreciating the view and the dwindling time we have left here in the heart of the Peach State.
Several hours have passed and I’ve spent a majority of that time getting dressed for our dinner date tonight. I’m not usually the type that spends an excessive amount of time getting ready to go out, but today, I decided to take my time, for once.
“We gotta leave in a few, babe,” Bo says, from outside the bathroom door.
“Be out in a sec,” I reply, not able to control the smile forcing its way onto my lips. He’s only called me that a couple of times, but I’ve learned that it turns me into a gushing middle schooler, trying to hold down a squeal.
I give myself a last glance over in the mirror and I’m feeling pretty damn good about it. As I pull the dark loose waves of my nearly waist-length hair over the front of my shoulders, I make a mental note to put more effort into doing my makeup like I did tonight because it’s pretty flawless and apparently If I take my time, I can successfully apply winged eyeliner. But none of it excites me more than finally getting to break in my gorgeous, sparkly, little black dress that perfectly shows off my shoulders, collar bones and somehow makes my legs look like they go on for days.
Finally ready, I start out of the bathroom but stop dead in my tracks—when I get an eye full of him—in all his towering beauty, leaning coolly back against the glass, one ankle crossed casually over the other. I take a quick moment to drink him in, while his eyes are down and he’s still unaware that I’m technically in the room. The city sparkling like a backdrop behind him only adds to how sickly stunning he looks in a fitted charcoal blazer over a white collard button-down and his hands are tucked in the pockets of his dark denim dress pants until he lifts one to check his watch.
In this moment I swear to god, I don’t care anymore about going out, because I’d rather stay in this room and give him a list of all the dirty shit I just imagined him doing to me.
I quickly resume my entrance into the room as he lowers his watch, sweeps his hair back, and his eyes land on me. Bo’s standing here looking like a model in one of those cinematic cologne commercials and his eyes are tracing over my body in a way that mothers warn their daughters about. Although In my case, it was my father.
I’m suddenly wracked with an overwhelming feeling I can’t identify and I can literally feel my brain turning stupid.
“S-s- sorry I - took forever,” I stammer. Am I having a fucking stroke right now?
“Worth the wait,” he says quietly as his eyes return to mine.
I quickly look away, slipping on my heels, laid out on the foot of the bed, because I just now realize what the feeling is. The feeling I’m currently drowning in at this very moment. I didn’t recognize it before, because I’ve never actually experienced being painfully shy. Especially with Bo. But here I am right now, under his gaze, feeling like some innocent little lamb of a girl, naïve and untouched— and the only thing I can come up with to make sense of it, is the simple fact that regardless of how insanely sexy I’ve always found him, he was still just that obnoxious kid I had a crush on and it grew into more. And until tonight, I haven’t once actually seen the man he’s grown into. And he has.
Suddenly, at the most inconvenient moment, I’m starting to piece together the brilliant level of perception that Bo possesses. Because It’s only now that I’m able to read between the lines of what he’s been saying this whole time, especially since he said what he did at the aquarium and when he found my cheerleader uniform and quickly changed directions. Reluctantly putting it in the Escalade only upon my request, with zero intentions to act on his original plan for it. Because he knows exactly how I’ve seen him this whole time, and he’s afraid to ruin that image that he so clearly knows I have of him.
He’s only recently found the ability to filter a large portion of his behavior. He told me that himself in the form of “There’s parts of me that I don’t recognize anymore… I’m a fucking asshole…” and of course, “You’ve only had sex with the version of me that loves you.”
And that’s just it-- I’m feeling like this right now because the way he just looked at me, is genuinely a part of Bo that’s a stranger to me. He slipped—and he doesn’t even realize it. But there’s nothing about it that’s ruining his image.
And now, I have a shark-eyed, laser focus on one thing—and one thing only. After tonight—once we get to L.A—I’m going to know that stranger. I’m going to know him in every way. There’s no other option available for him
With that plan, now set in stone, I relax. Tonight I’m just going to enjoy my date and whatever he wants to do after….I’m so fucking down for it.
